


The Music Will Do

by legendarycomputerpoetry



Category: Original Work
Genre: 18th Century, F/M, Fiction, Historical, Musicians, NaNoWriMo 2020, Not Beta Read, Original Fiction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, young adult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendarycomputerpoetry/pseuds/legendarycomputerpoetry
Summary: Bernadette Roberts never intended to do anything beyond the family music room. But her mother had other plans--mainly announcing her arranged engagement at her debutante ball. Roberts was less than excited to find out her fiancee was Christopher Thornhill: heir to the best textile company this side of the North.He's the total package too. Young, handsome and rich. But Bernadette only wants to play her harp.Enter Elizabeth, the stepsister with a devotion to music that rivals Roberts. On top of her forced engagement, Roberts has to vie for the right to her passion.Further complicating Roberts' life, her music instructor--a man fifteen years her senior--has been making advances on her unprovoked. Roberts' hopes, despite her feelings around the engagement, that his behavior doesn't affect her debut into society as a lady.In her journey to just play music, Roberts' learns that love can come in many different forms...whether that be healthy or toxic love.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 1





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first completed NaNoWriMo work. It's not the best, but I hope that you enjoy regardless. New chapters will be updated bi-weekly (every two weeks).

Lady Bernadette Roberts loved music.

More specifically, she loved playing her harp. The act of practicing her instrument in the up-scale music room within their humble home was gratifying and created a serene atmosphere for Bernadette to hone her talents and craft them in a way that couldn’t be ignored. Sir Roberts, her father, was the one who got her into music and instrumental studies when she was a little girl, still impressionable and always looking for an opportunity to make her parents happy and proud of her. When her father died a short few years ago, Bernadette had been heartbroken at first. She would miss his physical presence in the music room; observing her while her fingers plucked delicately yet haphazardly until they bled and calloused over. Sir Roberts would bound in the room as if hearing the hiss of pain under his daughter’s breath. If he heard the music stop, Sir Roberts would poke his head in through the music room door and check to see if his darling daughter was stuck in musical limbo or if she had injured herself from over playing.

But Bernadette felt like his presence would  _ always _ hover around the music room, or even inside it. Sometimes she swore that she could hear her late father playing a transparent melody on the piano that had been his since he went to university. The reason she still practiced to this day was because of Sir Roberts and his everlasting teachings, stretching beyond lifetimes. After her father died, Bernadette felt like she wasn’t making any progress as far as skills that she felt she needed at this point in her musical career. The legacy of her late father must be continued through her, which was her reasoning when trying to convince her mother to allow her to get a music instructor for the very purpose of teaching her skills and crafting the old ones to be more modern.

Bernadette had begged and begged and begged until her mother, Lady Madeline Roberts, finally answered her with a yes. The young girl had already been looking into certain music instructors that were either in or near the town of Rimecrehed, where they lived right now. There weren’t many, unsurprisingly, but Bernadette felt extremely lucky and like it was fate when she found Mr. Stanford Carter; an esteemed music instructor embellished with many awards and certifications of musical integrity. He played a variety of instruments and taught university courses in his free time, along with conducting a strings orchestra. Bernadette wrote him a letter one day, detailing her passion for music and harp playing,

_ Dear Mr. Carter, _

_ My name is Lady Bernadette Roberts. I’m seventeen years old and I play the harp. I started when I was a little girl because my late father, Sir Gerald Roberts, played the piano and a lot of other instruments during his time at university. He used to teach me but now I’m looking for someone to fill the gap that only an accomplished music instructor such as yourself could do. I’ve already looked through your profiles and talked to my local music shop’s owner to hear of some of your works. I heard that you’ve even written some of your own pieces and played them for people across the country! I aspire to be on that level of musical genius; one you seem to be on so easily and without fail. Naturally, I thought it was only perfect that you teach me. _

_ My family is not very wealthy, due to my mother being a widow and the funeral costing so much. But I can pay you whatever is necessary because I’m engaged to the heir to the textile empire in our town of Rimecrehed. My musical talent will far outweigh the fees that you’ll ask of me, I’m sure. This letter is coming off rather arrogant, isn’t it? Well, I’m just trying my best to get my feelings across to you. I’ve seen your pictures as well and you look similar to my father. Maybe that’s why I feel so inclined for you to be my instructor. Please help me become an even better musician, one that could be like you someday. I’ve known you’ve done it for other students across the country. So why not me, Lady Bernadette Roberts _

_ I patiently await your response, sir. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Lady Bernadette Roberts of Rimecrehed _

She had practically sprinted to the post office right after finishing her signature. Bernadette was in such a rush that she forgot to put the letter in an envelope that sealed it before going. Luckily, the post office workers were kind enough to offer her free envelopes and an official seal to borrow for such a blunder. Bernadette was eternally grateful for them, as without this envelope and seal she would never be able to have Mr. Stanford Carter know she was an option for him to teach to.

Bernadette signed that she would be patiently waiting for the response, but her and her mother, more her mother really, agreed that it was less patient and more anxious. Every day at the crack of dawn, just after the rooster’s crow, Bernadette would throw her jacket on and stuff her feet into the inside of her boots and run down to the post office to see if there was any mail for her yet. Most days, the post office workers hadn’t even clocked in yet. So, they often came across Bernadette sitting on the step leading to the front door of the post office. She was idly looking around at the bustling scenery of early morning workers going to their jobs. Either that or she was tapping her foot anxiously on the concrete steps—which felt like pounding to those walking or strolling by the post office.

It wasn’t until two weeks later when Bernadette finally got a response from the music instructor. Ironically, it was the day that she had come down with a small cold and wasn’t able to wait by the post office. Lady Madeline Roberts was reprimanding her young, naïve daughter about being so childish standing outside in the cold every morning just for a response from an older man who more than likely would never respond to an average girl like Bernadette. As if on cue, the mailman slid some envelopes through the skinny slot on their door, alerting both Bernadette and her mother. When Bernadette tried to get up, her weak body was pushed down by her mother and was promptly tucked tightly into the bed so that she couldn’t make her escape.

Bernadette watched her mother exit the room, shutting the door behind her. She wiggled in a vain attempt to escape the blanket jail that Lady Roberts imprisoned her in, but obviously, to no avail. Her mother came back into the room a short minute later; in her hands were a few envelopes. Most likely just bills and the frequent ads that local grocery stores and farmers would send to them about their products. Bernadette tried again to move while Lady Roberts sifted through the mail slowly as if purposely torturing her anxious daughter who was agonizingly begging her to just find the letter from Mr. Carter.

Suddenly, her mother’s eyes widened drastically. Looking from Bernadette to the envelope, Lady Roberts ripped into it, much to her daughter’s dismay.

“Mother! Is it from Mr. Carter?!” she screeched. Her mother ignored her, perhaps too deep into the letter to hear her daughter. A hand clapped over her mother’s face in shock and tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. Bernadette tried asking once again, but Lady Roberts interrupted her with a softening voice, very uncharacteristic of her by the way,

“Bernadette…I, I can’t believe this.”

“Show me! Show me show me show me!”

Bernadette managed to break her arms free from their soft imprisonment and snatched the parchment paper right out of her mother’s shaky hands. She read the letter with a pounding heart and sweat forming on her brow from anxiety, as well as the cold she had currently probably.

_ Lady Bernadette Roberts, _

_ I’m flattered that you were thinking of me to complete this slot in your musical career. Right now, I’m working with my strings orchestra on a new piece that will be played at a symphony hall. I think you would enjoy the sound. I’d like to hear you play so that I could gauge what kind of assistance you’ll need. By the way, I appreciate your confidence. I like that elemental personality in my students, as it creates more opportunities for flexible learning. At the start of next week, I will be making a stop in the town of Rimecrehed to stay at an inn and travel towards the symphony hall just beyond the gorgeous, scenic town that you are very lucky to live in. _

_ Because the string orchestra has been practicing, my pupils are in need of more strings as theirs are beginning to fray from the wear and tear of constant practice. I implore and encourage you to come to the local music shop, along with your harp, to show me some of your skills and talent. I will provide you with sheet music for you to play impromptu. It will help with your sight-reading ability, as well as challenge the natural confident nature you have about you. Students like you are my favorite to teach so I expect great things in a week from you. _

_ All the best to you. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Sir Stanford Carter _

_ Strings Symphonic Conductor _

Bernadette burst into tears from excitement, happiness and relief. She was finally going to continue her father’s legacy—as long as this audition of sorts in a week went perfectly. Her mother seemed impressed as well, in her own different way. The two of them made plans for Bernadette’s practice and the young girl willed herself to get over this annoying cold so that she wouldn’t miss the audition in a week.

After about a week, the audition date was front and center. Bernadette had been—most likely over excessively—practicing for this day. She and her harp sat in the music room of her home for hours every day, only coming out when her mother hollered for her to eat something or she’d fall sick again. Bernadette didn’t want that, so she came out and took a break every time. If there was anything else going on around her or in her mother’s life, Bernadette had no idea. After all, she was cooped up in the same place for elongated periods of the day. Her fingers were becoming calloused after the first few days of bleeding profusely if she practiced for too long.

Lady Roberts reprimanded her about this, telling her that if she doesn’t knock it off, she will be less than perfect for her audition for Mr. Carter.

Bernadette went to the music shop that morning, carrying her harp with her carefully so she didn’t drop it or break the strings just before they were to begin. The music shop owner had been debriefed on the situation occurring in just a few minutes so he wished her luck and offered her some free extra strings if she were to pass this audition. The two of them waited in the practice room before the music shop owner heard the front door to the shop open. He left the room, leaving Bernadette to wrestle with her thoughts about being perfect and passing this test and making sure to remember everything she’d ever learned about music from her father and from her non-stop days of practicing.

The door clicked open, revealing Mr. Stanford Carter in all of his glory. She felt her heart drop to her stomach when he introduced himself to her, taking her hand and bowing respectfully. Bernadette politely curtseyed, just like her mother instructed her to do.

He sat down in the chair beside her and pulled out some music sheets from his messenger bag, placing them neatly on the music stand in front of her, “Now, Lady Roberts, I’d like for you to play this piece. Reprise and repeat as listed in the sheet, please.”

Bernadette nodded. She didn’t trust her voice right now. Instead, she allowed her harp to do the talking for her. The young girl picked up her bow and began to play the song. It was a rather long one, spanning over ten minutes. Bernadette made sure to focus on every note and how she could make it sound beautiful for Mr. Carter to see how talented she was. If he didn’t, all those times her father taught her were for naught and Bernadette couldn’t let that happen. Not now, of all times in her life.

Finally, Bernadette lowered her bow and allowed the final chord to ring into the air until it dissipated into thin air. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to take this moment of peace and silence to calm herself before Mr. Carter’s inevitable critiques.

“Well Lady Roberts, I must say,” he smiled at her. Bernadette felt a spike of excitement and anticipation run through her body, up her spine and she couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “You are extremely talented. I will teach you. Starting in three weeks, we will be practicing until I feel like you have blossomed into an even better musician.”

Bernadette burst into tears. The man beside her chuckled, offering a supportive pat on the back for her hard work and preparation, as well as congratulating her.

Little did she know that her instructor, Mr. Stanford Carter, would be the source of discomfort and an added source of drama into her life for the next several years into adulthood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the author: _Greetings! Due to my own impatience, I've decided to post chapter one earlier than I had planned. This is good you reader, as I hope you enjoyed the preface and that I left you wanting more._

A small shriek sang from her harp.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry.” she looked to her instructor with apologetic eyes. Mr. Carter simply smiled and waved her off.

“It’s quite alright Bernadette. Now please,” he placed her hands back on the harp gently. His touch lingered just a tad bit too long. “Continue.”

Bernadette allowed her fingers to flow once more. The sheet of music in front of her spun a tale that she had to emulate through her instrument. Soft, charming chords bounced off the music room’s walls. The girl closed her eyes, allowing the music to flow. Mr. Carter applauded once she finished.

“Another great session.”

“Thank you. I love doing this—” Bernadette paused when she felt weight looming behind her.

Mr. Carter rested his hands on her shoulders. “Of course. Remember, if you ever want any extra sessions,” he massaged her suggestively. “Just send me a note and I’ll be here.”

Bernadette tried not to shudder. “Yes.”

The monotonous tone made him back off. Mr. Carter took the music sheet off of its stand and winked before he left the music room. Bernadette sighed, leaning back in her chair. She stared at the piano in the corner of the room. Left untouched since her father passed. Come to think of it, everything in this room used to be her father’s—even the harp she adored so much. The paintings on the wall and the copper music stand was his too, but she’d use that even when her father was alive.

Bernadette smoothed her Turkish gown when she stood up. She loved this dress because it complimented the regal copper of her late father’s harp. Music had surrounded her since she’d been born. Sir Gerald David Roberts, her father, was an esteemed piano player. He’d gone to university—where he learned the harp—and married her mother when he graduated three years later. The man had been so loving towards Bernadette. He saw the beauty in her, the talent he had seen in his pupils. After he heard her play once, the harp belonged to Bernadette exclusively.

Bernadette ran her hand along with the piano keys. Lightly, so that no sound came out. The last person to play it was her father and she vowed to never let a single chord escape from it because of that. Even Mr. Stanford Carter, when trying to tune her, wasn’t allowed to go near the piano. Her reminiscing was broken by the striking black ribbon on her wrist striking into her line of sight.

Oh, yeah. Did she mention she’s engaged?

She’s not exactly happy about it. Lady Madeline Roberts, her mother, insisted that her daughter was not to become a spinster and needed to marry a man of good status, both financially and good looking. Bernadette groaned thinking about her mother nagging her until finally, she reluctantly agreed to be Christopher Thornhill’s fiancee maybe a year ago give or take.

_ ‘Bernadette. Your father and I had made arrangements a long time ago for your betrothment to Sir Christopher Thornhill. Finally, their patriarch has contacted us to approve our proposal. You and Christopher are going to be married, and directly into the Thornhill family.’ _

_ Bernadette groaned, throwing her head back into the grass. She was spending time playing outside and picking flowers, making flower crowns. Her mother loved to encroach on her private time to tell her about things—no, more like command her—just for her agenda and satisfaction. ‘Mom, no. I don’t wanna get married!’ _

_ ‘Don’t talk back to me, young lady. You will respect me, and you will accept this decision. We are going to meet with them soon to talk about dowry. He’s a nice boy and you’ve met him before. What’s the problem?’ _

_ ‘I’m gonna play the harp and he’ll just bother me if we get married and then I have to like, I don’t know…stop playing and studying music and I won’t!’ _

_ Her mother sighed, running a hand through her messy hair in a stressed manner. Bernadette was really difficult when she wanted to be, even Bernadette knew this and still acted out like the lady she wasn’t supposed to be. _

Thornhill is technically the whole package: handsome, blonde, and rich. He was heir to this up and coming, the famous textile corporation that his father currently owned. They’d known each other since childhood, but Bernadette never saw him in a romantic light. He was such a playboy when they were but children, so for him to settle for her of all people was beyond her realm of thinking.

Nevertheless, this wasn’t her choice. Unfortunately, it was a requirement for all women to be married by the age of twenty. Bernadette is nineteen and would’ve gone to university to study music and music theory if she wasn’t tethered to the Thornhill boy and his family’s wealth.

“Bernadette? Are you in there?”

Lady Roberts poked her head into the music room and brightened seeing her daughter alone. 

“Darling! I have some very exciting news to share with you! And it has to do with you as well.”

“What is it, mother?” Bernadette internally sighed, tipping her head back so that she could stare at the ceiling of the music room. It was a boring sight but Bernadette could care less at the moment.

“Remember when I told you about the man I was seeing?” her mother giggled with a blush on her face that reminded her daughter of a little school girl talking about her first crush to her parents and best friends.

Vaguely, Bernadette remembered a conversation from a while ago that she had barely been mentally present for.

_ ‘So, I met a botanist on my way to the writing firm. Remember I was getting some books for you to read. And just as a remember, those books are for after sewing and music lessons—’ _

_ ‘Just…okay, mom. Anyways, you were saying?’ _

_ ‘Oh right! I decided to be engaged to this man, as he was so kind and sweet. Soon you will have a stepfather that can give you the male presence you’ll need before your debut ceremony in a month or so.’ _

_ Bernadette had tuned her out, pretending to sew. Whatever her mom was saying was probably just indirectly insulting her and Bernadette didn’t care to listen to another one of her mother’s rants about her behavior and ladylikeness. Whatever that means. _

Grabbing her daughter’s hands, she continued. “He’s agreed to marry into our family.”

Bernadette raised an eyebrow.

“But, you’re a widow.”

“So what? I’m not desirable anymore?”

“Well, according to the standards that you insist that I’m breaking all the time…yes.”

Lady Roberts let go and scoffed. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Anyways,” she sat down in her daughter’s chair. “You’re going to have a stepsister. They’re arriving in the afternoon, so be respectful.”

“I figured.”

“How was your lesson today?”

Bernadette paused. She wanted to tell her mother about the passive moves that Mr. Carter had been making ever since she turned nineteen. But, this wasn’t the time. Her mother was too excited about the new marriage and a larger family. Plus, the debutante plans she’d been making would be in shambles if she found out that Bernadette was touched by another man. “It was alright.”

Well, that was at least a half-truth. It did go well. She got to play music—which is a win in Bernadette’s book regardless of anything Mr. Carter did or said to her.

Lady Roberts stood up when they both heard the sound of horses stopping in front of their simple home. “Oh! That’s them. Come with me to greet them.”

She wordlessly followed her mother to the foyer. Patiently waiting, Bernadette went over the proper greetings of an engaged woman in her head. The outfit she was wearing was presentable, at least. The Turkish dress dulled her silhouette, so a mahogany belt with silver embellishments gave her waist shape once more. Her dress was white with sabot sleeves cut about five inches from the elbow so as not to get caught on the harp strings. Baby blue lace accentuated her breasts; the flowery pattern on her dress complimenting the white fabric.

Even after her music lesson, Bernadette’s hair was still relatively together. Her updo had some flyways but was mostly covered with decorative pearls and weaving multi-colored silks. Those same silks were neatly wrapped in a knot behind her head. This allowed the excess weaving to leave an elegant trail of silk down her back.

She’d been numbering the waves of her properness that her stepfamily had already been inside the home. Bernadette quickly curtseyed when she felt eyes judging her harshly. “Sorry,” she tried to sound genuine. “I’m Bernadette Roberts.”

“Nice to meet you.” That was her stepfather, so where was the stepsister?

“Likewise.”

Ah, there she is.

The girl curtseyed once more. “My name is Elizabeth Bishop. It looks like we are to be sisters.”

Elizabeth wore a traditional silver dress with a v-neckline accentuated by ruffled white lace. She was the definition of a proper lady in their town; her coiffed sleeves that are cut like Bernadette’s—but her waist looks smaller, so she must be wearing a corset. Bernadette couldn’t help but notice the absence of a black ribbon on her wrist. Instead, she had a tight pearl necklace brought together by a short white ribbon matching the silver of her dress.

Their parents had scurried off long ago, probably to make tea and prepare an early supper. Elizabeth spoke first,

“I see you are spoken for.” her eyes were trained on Bernadette’s wrist.

“Yes. I’m engaged.”

“How delightful…” Elizabeth trailed off. “So, what are some of your interests? Have you had a debutante ball yet?”

Bernadette blanched. “No…my mother and I have been putting it off until you two arrived,” she gestured towards the kitchen where their stepfather was. “I don’t have a lot of interests. I only play the harp.”

Elizabeth played with her brunette locks, only becoming interested when her stepsister mentioned the harp.

“I play an instrument too,” she mimed fingers flying over keys. “the piano. Since I was five, at least.”

Bernadette’s anxiety spiked drastically. She didn’t get to see the coaches unloading their bags, but a piano would’ve been noticeable so matter how scatterbrained she was. “Did you bring your piano?”

The brunette shook her head. “No. My father informed me that there is already a piano in this house,” she looked around Bernadette. “speaking of, where is the music room?”

“You can’t touch that piano.”

Elizabeth gasped incredulously. “What? Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“That piano is important to me,” Bernadette continued. “My mother nor I have given you permission to touch it.”

“Goodness, your anger is funny enough to make a dog laugh. I’m using that piano whether you or your mother for that matter, like it or not.”

Elizabeth then dashed off deeper into the house. Bernadette’s heart was racing as she followed her quickly, hoping that her advantage of knowing the layout of her house would aid her. Unfortunately, Elizabeth was quick to learn.

By the time Bernadette entered the music room, her stepsister was opening the folder full of music sheets. Her cat-sticks pressed on the pedals below the mahogany base. Elizabeth’s slender fingers glided over the keys like waves coming to shore and quickly escaping back into the ocean.

The piano sounded different now. Bernadette didn’t feel the same way that she did when her father played. It was all wrong.

Bernadette approached the piano quietly, trying not to let her stepsister know that she was about to stop her. Reaching from behind, Bernadette grabbed the case that goes over the piano keys, lifting it, and then dropping it onto Elizabeth’s fingers.

Elizabeth yelped in pain. “What the— ?”

Bernadette pushed her to the floor without thinking and took the piano bench for herself. “I told you not to touch it.”

“You…” the brunette stared at her reddening fingers. It looked rather painful. Bernadette smiled wickedly. “You laced mutton.”

“I said for you not to touch it. Calling me a whore won’t change the fact that you brought this upon yourself.”

Bernadette crossed her arms. Before Elizabeth could retort with another insult, Lady Roberts came in and gasped at the position that her stepdaughter was in.

“Elizabeth! What on earth are you doing on the floor?!”

She tried to help Elizabeth up. Once she was off the floor, Lady Roberts shot her daughter a questioning look.

“What happened here, Bernadette?”

Elizabeth interrupted. Her eyes were clouded with crocodile tears and her body shook with feigned fear. “Bernadette pushed me to the ground! I just wanted to see the beautiful music room my father spoke of and Bernadette wanted me gone! She said I would dirty the room with my mopus presence…”

“Bernadette!” her mother screamed. “Go to your room, and no dinner for you.”

Elizabeth shot her a conniving look before Bernadette stormed up the stairs to her tiny room. Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill onto her reddening cheeks.

Bernadette slammed the door closed behind her. Then, she flopped herself onto her bed. The sun was coming in through the glass windows, bathing her in glowing yellows. Normally, she’d be so excited about this weather—but Elizabeth was easily able to put her in a sour mood. Then again, she doesn’t have to recognize Elizabeth as her stepsister. Their society, though fickle at times, was mostly rigid and traditional.

Since Lady Roberts isn’t the biological mother of Elizabeth, she is a child out of wedlock. Even if her stepfather and mother get married. Therefore, she is the bastard of their family. Bernadette smiled at this. She could alienate her stepsister from not only the music room but her debutante ball in general. Elizabeth was a beautiful bachelorette, there’s no denying that.

“I don’t want Thornhill, but…” But maybe Elizabeth would see Bernadette’s locked arms with such a handsome heir and maybe she’d shut her mouth.

Either way, the music room is more important to Bernadette than anything Christopher Thornhill or her stepfamily could offer. The music room where the scent of copper doesn’t overwhelm her senses but calms her in a way that no perfume ever could. The strings on her harp felt like thin lines of home; the base was like an anchor that grounded Bernadette’s mind like nothing else. Elizabeth wouldn’t take that away. She can’t take any more meaning from her late father’s piano, nor his music room.

A knock sounded at her door, disrupting her thoughts. The person didn’t wait for a response much to Bernadette’s annoyance.

“Hey.”

Bernadette had expected it to be Elizabeth—what with the rudeness of just barging in. But Elizabeth wasn’t a man, and that was a man’s voice. She turned around to see her fiance: the ever-so-dashing Christopher Thornhill.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Thornhill shivered playfully. “So cold, Miss Roberts. Why aren’t you outside, it’s a gorgeous day? We could even go for a stroll downtown…”

“First of all, I don’t want to spend time with you, and two,” Bernadette rolled her eyes. “My mother grounded me.”

“Ah,” he responded. He sat at the chair in front of Bernadette’s vanity. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Right…” the tone in his voice was sarcasm at its best. “Because you’re always so innocent.”

Bernadette sat up in fury. “You have no right to be talking like that! I’m upset. You should just go.”

Her fiance chuckled. “Lady Roberts, it was just a joke. Usually, the things you do though, are contradictory to what you feel.”

Thornhill stood up again and approached Bernadette. “I’ll ask your mother if you’d go for a stroll with me. I know she won’t refuse.”

That’s true. Her mother was a sucker for handsome, young men that were marrying her daughter. Okay so maybe it was just Thornhill. He’s kind of hard to say no to—especially with all the inheritance he was supposed to come into in about a year.

“Good luck.”

Bernadette shoved her face back into her pillow. She was going to make her mother even angrier by getting makeup smudges on clean linens, but at this point, what did any of that matter?

Her stepsister was evil. Just like the fairy tales her father used to read her. Elizabeth, though she didn’t know her that well yet, must be perfect in every way just to pour salts in the wound that is Bernadette’s place in society.

“But…why isn’t she engaged yet?” Bernadette wondered aloud. She was a bachelorette and much more aesthetically pleasing. Not to mention less of a hassle to her father most likely.

Thornhill came back inside, his long black boots making a satisfying tap against the hardwood floors. “Hurry on, Bernadette. Your mother permitted me.”

He gently placed a hand on her shoulder to which she shot up in surprise. Grabbing at her chest, Bernadette hissed.

“Don’t touch me there!”

“Sorry,” he chided. “I was just trying to help you up.”

Bernadette wanted to tell him about Mr. Carter, too. But that would mean Thornhill might think that she trusts him or worse, that she loves him enough to share even the most embarrassing things. “It’s…fine.”

Ever the gentlemen, Thornhill took her hand and locked their arms together. Bernadette smoothed out her dress and shot a glance at herself in the mirror, just to see if her mother would have a cow before they went off. She looked fine, thank goodness.

Down the steps, both of them went. Thornhill was talking her ear off, per usual. Mostly about textiles and his father’s many retirement parties coming up.

“You’ll be accompanying me to one of them, yes?”

Bernadette internally groaned. It wasn’t a question. Not in this day and age, anyways. Engaged women were to follow their fiancee. Yeah, that’s how free she was in this world now. Thornhill wasn’t the worst she had seen. Some girls that she used to play with were shipped off to other countries with their veteran husbands—still on duty during the war.

Thornhill was drafted last week. Which to be quite honest, threw off the engagement plans and debutante ball only slightly. Instead of an autumnal theme, her mother had to go for a winter one. Oh, the horror.

His casual dress for today was a deep green jacket with gold paisley embellishments. The neck of his jacket was coiffed to make his neck appear longer and more slender. Additionally, the ruffles were contained by a black ribbon tied around the neck. Like Bernadette’s wrist ribbon, this was Thornhill’s symbol of engagement. Today, his hair wasn’t done up too fancily. A braid that sat between his shoulder blades was similar to her braids.

“It is such a beautiful day isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

Thornhill pulled her ever so closer. “Do you hate me, Lady Roberts?”

“No.”

“Do you dislike me?”

Bernadette rolled her eyes boldly at him. Normally men would strike a woman if they disrespected him as such, but Thornhill wouldn’t. “Even if I did, would anything change?”

He laughed. “Such honesty! That’s what makes you so charming and likable.”

  
  


Men don’t think that’s charming. At least normal men. In the town she lived in, Rimecrehed, men were held in high regard and women were mere objects. Not to speak out of turn, nothing but housewives and child bearers.

Despite being different from this, Thornhill and his family are respected all the same. His family’s textile company is booming now with the war raging overseas, and the sum of all his father’s finest work was about to be put into his son’s hands. Bernadette was almost jealous that he could have a lot of freedom, but then again, the war wasn’t fun. It took away from the music.

“By the way,” Thornhill continued. “Who was that girl in the kitchen with your mother? A new friend, perhaps?”

Bernadette guffawed. “No way. She’s not my friend. She’s my stepsister.”

“Ah, you’re upset about it. What happened?”

Damn this guy for being able to read her so easily!

“She’s just…so like, she’s not a good person.”

“Didn’t you just meet her?”

“We’re all people! We judge people at first glance because that’s what we do. I think she’s not a good person.”

Thornhill laughed. “I hope you have at least a reason for saying such things.”

“Of course I do!” she blushed. “She touched my dad’s piano.”

He held her closer and said nothing. Bernadette took this as inspiration to continue.

“She touched it and she played it. It sounded nothing like dad’s music. The sounds were like a cat getting a bath. I was so infuriated—all I saw was red! I pushed her out of the chair like any normal person would—okay maybe not any normal person—but you know what I mean!”

“Then what happened?” he asked.

“She fell to the ground dramatically, called me a whore for pushing her, and then my mother came in to see the worst possible moment: me standing over Elizabeth like a madwoman.”

Thornhill nodded, then led her down the path into town. “And that’s why your mother sent you to your room.”

Bernadette nodded. She was embarrassed to tell him, but the words came flying out of her mouth. Thankfully, Thornhill didn’t seem too happy with what her step-sister had done. Even he knew her late father and his music. That man had given him the blessing to even be with Bernadette.

“I think Elizabeth, or whoever your stepsister is,” his eyes looked dark. “should be more careful of other’s feelings. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

Her face lit up. Bernadette looked away so he couldn’t see her reaction to such mushy sentiments. She was still a girl. All girls like hearing romantic things from time to time!

“Well, I’m not gonna get hurt.”

Thornhill’s eyes lit up again.

“Of course you aren’t.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy <3

Rimecrehed was a coastal town. Due to the fishing dock, the town’s early history had an increased amount of immigration. Many came from hispanic countries, while others escaped religious persecution from Europe. The people of Rimecrehed spoke multiple languages but the official language that everyone knew was standard, neutral English. Though the main source of the economy was fishing, the Thornhill Textile empire was springing up through the stocks and creating a name for itself. There are many other types of businesses of course; taverns and public eateries, a less than desired brothel that was barely used, a large tailor shop that was always short of staff and customers notoriously got impatient waiting for their clothes to be sewn properly. There was also a music shop, where Mr. Carter—Bernadette’s music instructor—worked primarily. Bernadette frequented the shop whenever she went in town, whether it was to window browse or buy new music to practice on her harp. The archives building is mostly unused, but many students that stop in Rimecrehed to do research or study utilize the building. It holds citizenry records, past clerk reports and much more. On the east side of town, where Bernadette lives, is home to middle class families. Those who have names, but not big enough names to warrant the fancy homes to the north of the shore. Thornhill had a manor of course, complete with five acres of land with small factories so that business could remain upward.

Bernadette had been into downtown—or near the port—a few times every summer. It had always been hot, and the water was not for swimming so the cold crystal waves taunted their sweaty bodies. But it was fall right now, so the wind was creating a slight chill to the air. It wasn’t frightfully busy today; usually the center square was densely populated during the weekend. But the chill seemed to keep most people inside. Downtown had a few shops where one could buy groceries or sewing supplies. Only a few taverns and one brothel to the west side of the town. Bernadette and Thornhill had never been to the west, as their parents forbade it.

Nevertheless, their stroll led them into the quaint town. Bernadette watched horses drag manure back to farms and children clutching onto their mother’s skirts. Since there weren’t many people, only some were staring at Thornhill. He was somewhat famous still. His father had basically scooped the town out of bankruptcy and were able to pay that interest in big ways. Bernadette wasn’t a huge fan of all the attention. She just hoped that no fans of Thornhill would be stopping them from going to her most favorite place of all: the music store.

It’s no surprise that as soon as it’s in viewing distance does Bernadette light up and begin tugging her fiancee along. They can never get there fast enough. Thornhill didn’t mind though. Bernadette’s genuine smile was a rarity as they grew older and closer physically. Anything to see it was okay with him.

Rimecrehead was a town of red bricks and wooden structures. Even though the factories were used almost every day, there was limited pollution in the air. Bernadette didn’t care for much beyond her own little bubble, but the environment would affect her music regardless. She wouldn’t be able to travel with her harp if the dirt roads were rained on, or if the weather was too hot to practice outdoors. Thornhill wasn’t the same—not that he didn’t care about the environment. He was usually inside those factories, overseeing the workers and their progress. When he came to Bernadette’s house, he made a point of going outside. Even for a simple stroll like the one today.

The music store, however, was her most favorite part of town. Everything just felt so right in there; the atmosphere made her forget about the problems plaguing her mind. Her engagement to Thornhill, Mr. Carter’s inappropriate advances, and now, her new stepsister that had a penchant for her misery. Speaking of Elizabeth, what if she was playing the piano right now? There wasn’t really anyone to stop her besides Lady Roberts who was preoccupied by her new husband.

Bernadette closed her eyes and took in the scent of the music shop. She needed to forget about Elizabeth, just for this moment. Thornhill followed closely behind her as she perused the instruments.

He knew this was her special place and wanted to respect that. Damn him and his understanding. It made it hard for Bernadette not to swoon at this behavior.

Bernadette spotted a pamphlet on one of the shelves. She read the headline: “Music competition coming soon—see inside for more details!”

Excitement and curiosity bubbled up in her stomach. A music competition would be the perfect distraction from her chaotic life! Perhaps the prize would be money, or recognition? She turned the page to look at the requirements, not sure what to expect from them. Music competitions weren’t typically held in Rimecrehead. Usually, they were held in the city just to the far east. As there were more people and therefore, likely more musicians.

“Oh, a music competition!”

Thornhill’s voice broke her thoughts.

“Jeez, don’t scare me like that!”

He grinned. “Sorry, it’s just really pleasant to see you like that. All excited.”

Bernadette flushed and turned away once more, trying to read the fine print requirements in the pamphlet. She glowered.

‘No female applicants.’

“Damn,” she cursed under her breath. “That figures.”

Bernadette put the pamphlet back on the shelf and tried not to stomp away. She should’ve known. Everything always circled back to gender. If only she’d been born a man—she could’ve entered in the competition and she would’ve been able to study music at university. Maybe even have a career.

But no, she was stuck in this port town with a fiance she was not interested in.

“Lady Roberts, I’m sorry about the competition. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Bernadette spun around. “You know what you can do? Leave me alone!”

With that, she ran from the shop. She didn’t dare look back to see if Thornhill was behind her or not. She just kept running and running, hoping that she could run long enough to lose him.

After running for what felt like hours, Bernadette stopped by the dock. It was colder than the town square was, she noticed as she held her sides in a poor attempt to stay warm. There were no freight ships docked. They must be traveling today. Finally, Bernadette looked around to see if Thornhill had followed her, but saw no one except a few fishermen eating a late lunch.

Sighing, she sat at the edge of the dock after taking off her shoes and allowing the sun to hit her feet. The waves weren’t too loud this afternoon, singing softly against the wind and ever so quietly brushing up against the shore.

“I just want to escape…” Bernadette said to no one in particular. She wanted to escape from this life.

The sun was slowly setting. She hummed a tune to distract herself, music being that only escape she could realistically have. Bernadette must’ve been sitting there for a while because a fisherman came out to speak to her.

“Miss, are you alright?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry.”

He smiled and tipped his cap politely. “It’s no problem. Just making sure that you weren’t thinking about going for a swim in that nice gown.” The way he spoke was dripping with suggestion.

Ugh, she already had enough of creepy guys with Mr. Carter. Bernadette sent him a look of contempt, grabbed her shoes and moved to leave the dock when a hand grabbed her arm.

“Don’t ignore me,” the fisherman spat. “You should know better than to look like that out in public. You’re just begging for it.”

Bernadette tried to pull free from his grip. “Let go of me now.”

“No way, girlie. You have no right to refuse me.”

“I’m spoken for,” she held up her wrist, showing off the black ribbon that she had come to despise so much. “So leave me alone.”

The fisherman didn’t look fazed to Bernadette’s dismay. “So what? I don’t see your man around here.”

“Actually, I’m right here.”

Bernadette had never been so glad to see Thornhill. He was standing a few feet away from her. When had he come to the fishing dock? She hadn’t heard anyone stepping on those rickety wooden boards. The fisherman’s grip loosened, allowing Bernadette to slip out and—reluctantly, mind you—stand to the side of her fiance. Truth be told, she felt safer right now with Thornhill than some creepy man that she seemed to be magnet for lately.

“Keep your woman in check.” The fisherman said begrudgingly, “She was practically throwing herself at me and everyone else on this fishing dock.”

Thornhill held Bernadette closer to him, throwing an arm around her shoulder possessively and practically hissing at the fisherman. “Perhaps you should treat women with a little more respect.”

The fisherman said nothing. He stomped away from the two, but not before childishly shoulder checking Thornhill, who seemed unfazed by the idiotic display of machismo.

He looked at Bernadette. “Lady Roberts, you—”

“Don’t say anything. I get it,” she crossed her arms and moved to walk away from him back to her house. “I’m overreacting about the music competition and my stepsister. Let’s just go home already.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. Not at all.”

Bernadette looked over her shoulder at him incredulously. “I don’t believe you, and I never will.”

“Listen,” he started. Thornhill grabbed her hand, spinning her around so that she ended up against his broad and strong chest. “I care about you, Lady Roberts. And with caring about you comes caring about the things you love. I wish you could understand that because I’m not sure how else I can make you see that I care.”

Bernadette pushed him away, adamantly looking away and she looked very similar to a small child complaining about not getting a piece of candy. “No. You don’t care. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be engaged to me right now. You’d reject my mother’s offer and you could marry the heiress to a famous company or something.”

“But I don’t want a girl like that. I want you.”

Silence.

Then, he spoke again. “You think I’m forcing myself to be with you?”

Bernadette said nothing. He should already know my answer if he’s so smart and rich, she thought, even though she knew that her logic was backwards.

“Well, I’m not. I’m with you because I care about you. I’ve known you for a very long time, Bernadette. And I care about every piece of you. Even the parts that are less than acceptable in this town and in the greater society we live in. I want to be a part of your life. As long as you’ll allow me.”

“That’s the thing! It’s not something for me to allow. I can’t say no, because it’s not my choice. That’s—like you said—just the world we live in,” Bernadette felt herself beginning to cry and pour out every emotion that she’s felt today. “I can’t be happy and play music or else I’m a spinster that's doomed to a life of a barren womb and isolation.”

She hated being vulnerable in front of Thornhill, the man who had it all. He didn’t know what it was like to be a woman. And he never would. That thought opened the floodgates and Bernadette began to cry uncontrollably.

“Bernadette…I’ll take you home now. Come,” he held her hand gently and led her off of the dock. “I’ve arranged for us a horse and carriage.”

She wordlessly followed, sniffling the whole ride home and refused to actually cry in front of him for too long. Bernadette didn’t want him to think that she was just some stupid girl who cried and was emotional all the time.

Upon arrival, Thornhill kissed her forehead and bid her a soft goodbye before settling back into the carriage they’d been riding in.

“Please, send me a letter or caller if you need to talk. About anything. Okay?”

Bernadette nodded, feeling melancholy as she entered the house. She shucked her shoes off and padded up the stairs back to her room. She could get dinner later and besides, she wasn’t even hungry. Maybe her mother would jump for joy knowing that her daughter was skipping meals. Today was exhausting and it wasn’t even over yet. But, something felt different about her and Thornhill. She blushed and shoved her face into her pillow, embarrassed thinking about what Thornhill had said to her on the dock. Perhaps there was something in her, beyond just being a ‘regular’ girl, that made her feel like this. Maybe Thornhill was genuinely happy with her. Bernadette knew she was difficult and much too outspoken for a woman to be, at least in the world they live in today.

But, Thornhill was still there. He didn’t strike her, nor did he tell her to give up on music. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all because of those things.

“You’re back.”

Elizabeth. Great. She seemed to have a talent for showing up exactly when Bernadette didn’t want to see her.

“I heard you and your fiance had a little race around the center square. Did he win?”

“What do you want?” Bernadette sat up in her bed, ignoring the question. She wasn’t in the mood for Elizabeth’s mind games. She wouldn’t win. End of story.

“I just wanted to say hello. You seem down ever since mother sent you up to your room.”

“What do you mean?! That was your fault!”

Elizabeth twirled her brunette hair around one of her slender fingers. “I know, but you deserved it. Pushing me to the floor like that, like you're some kind of brute. I can’t believe you’re engaged.”

“For your information, I’m not a brute. And,” Bernadette got up in her stepsister’s face. “I told you not to touch my father’s piano.”

“Whatever. I was just trying to connect with you through mutual interests and you threw me to the ground. I see how you really are, Bernadette, and it’s rather ugly.”

“Get out of my room.”

“Sure!” Elizabeth cackled, but not before saying, “dinner’s ready!”

Bernadette flopped back down onto her bed and screamed into her pillow in frustration. The door slammed behind Elizabeth, who was still laughing so loudly that Bernadette could hear her in the kitchen still cackling like a nasty, old witch.

“I need to get out of here,”

She got up and went to her desk, sitting down on the chair. Bernadette grabbed some parchment paper, her quill, and wrote a letter to Thornhill. As much as she hated to admit it, Thornhill Manor sounded like a better place than her own home right now. Bernadette stamped her family’s seal onto the envelope and went downstairs wordlessly to deliver it to the post office.

_ Dear Thornhill, _

_ I need to get out of this house. Nothing is pressing, but I can’t stay in this environment without having a complete mental breakdown right now. My stepsister is acting like a complete witch and it’s taking all of my energy and patience not to explode at her. My mother is completely ignorant to the ticking time bomb that is between me and my stepsister. Which is an entirely new problem. _

_ I can’t even play my harp without my stepsister invading my sacred space and hurting me emotionally and physically. Please let me stay at the Thornhill Manor, even if it’s just for a night or just one day. I promise I won’t put your family out too much. Please, help me. _

_ Bernadette _

Then she began to write in her diary,

_ Dear diary, _

_ It’s been a whirlwind of a week so far. I’m so tired. Everything’s been culminating into this terrible day and I feel like a terrible person for the way that I’ve been treating Sir Christopher Thornhill. He’s been nothing but nice to me and for some reason I just get so upset with him for being so kind to me. My mother will never know about this behavior, as she already rips on me about literally everything else. If Sir Christopher Thornhill allows me to stay with him for a night, then I won’t be able to write to you and express my true feelings privately. _

_ I will now go to bed as I might just pass out before eating dinner tonight—which would make my mother pretty happy, huh? Maybe I’ll eat just to spite her. _

_ Bernadette _


	4. Chapter 4

Since it was closer to the weekend, Bernadette’s letter would not arrive at the Thornhill Manor until the early mornings of Monday. Meaning, she was  _ still _ stuck in her chaotic household until then. She vowed to herself that she would remain in the music room—maybe even call Mr. Carter for a lesson?

No, well…maybe. Bernadette didn’t feel like being creeped on and simply wanted to play music. But all this free time  _ should _ be used productively. Plus, if Mr. Carter was here, Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to bother her. So she did. Bernadette asked her mother to call for Mr. Carter. He responded quickly and came within twenty minutes after the initial call.

“Bernadette,” Mr. Carter greeted after putting his bag down. “It’s refreshing to see you so proactive about your studying.”

She nodded and led him to the music room. Bernadette didn’t miss the glare coming from her stepsister—who was currently relegated to chopping vegetables for supper.

The two of them got to the music room and slipped inside wordlessly, as they normally do. Bernadette pulled out the piano bench from the corner of the room where she’d put it, and adjusted her harp. On the other hand, Mr. Carter was organizing the music they would be practicing. A handful of sheets rested on the stand in front of her, so Bernadette began to play some warm up chords. They sat in a comfortable silence—sans the harp—for a while until Mr. Carter spoke.

“I see you have a new guest in your house.”

Bernadette slouched. Great, we’re still on this.

“Yeah, my mother remarried,” she pulled some more chords. “That’s my stepsister Elizabeth.”

“Does she play any instruments?”

Mr. Carter’s question was innocent, but she knew better than to trust this man’s word at face value. Something suddenly within her demanded that she lie and say Elizabeth didn’t; to save the girl from gross advancements from an older man. Bernadette shook her head.

“Not really.”

Good enough.

“That’s a shame,” he shifted closer behind her, resting his hands on her shoulder. “Now begin from measure twenty one and play the reprise.”

Back to regular lessons. Thank goodness, she didn’t want to talk about Elizabeth anymore.

Bernadette did as he instructed. She did her best to pour all of her negative feelings through the strings of the harp and allow them to sizzle out to make some sweet chords. Of course, Mr. Carter’s hands didn’t move from their spot—which in a way, kept Bernadette grounded. Who knows what that man would do if she completely blocked him out while playing?

A short breath came from Bernadette as she completed his assignment to her. Mr. Carter stood back and clapped softly.

“Excellent work, Bernadette.”

“Thank you—”

Her words stunted when she felt his hand rubbing up and down her arm. It was slow and sensual, like a lover agonizing over the map of their beloved’s body. It was awkward and frankly uncomfortable, and Bernadette had no idea how to react.

Mr. Carter came closer, his breath brushing up against the shell of her ear. “You’ve been such a good pupil. There must be some way to thank you for being so well.”

Bernadette gulped. “Um, just being your student is enough for me.”

That was a lie, but Mr. Carter was the best they had in town so she really had no other choice.

“No, no. I mean something besides what we have right now.”

“Uhhh…I don’t know what you mean.”

He grew bolder by the second, seeing as how his hands were no longer on her arm. Now they were resting on her collarbone so lightly that it would tickle if Bernadette didn’t feel frozen in place right now.

“Oh please,” Mr. Carter tapped his fingers against her clavicle. “This game of cat and mouse we’ve been playing has gotten boring. Don’t you want to go further than this…?”

Bernadette squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think of anything else that could’ve been happening right now.

_ I am in a field right now of fresh flowers that are in the countryside. It smells like freshly cut grass. I am playing my harp by myself. The sound coming out of my harp is beautiful and perfectly conveys my feelings in a musically intellectual way. The grass would tickle the soles of her feet and the cold breeze would hold her tight. She would be wrapped in a safe cocoon that reverberated a cacophony of calming sounds that were equal parts familiar and unknown to her. _

Mr. Carter’s touch on her shoulders grew tighter, pulling Bernadette out of her serene reverie forcibly into the real life that she wanted more recently than ever to just leave without consequences.

Two conflicting ideas came into her head: one, she either slaps him and tells her mother everything he’d done to her since the start—but that wouldn’t work because her virtue would be put into question. Or two, Bernadette could take it and keep it a secret even in her grave. A small, girlish part of her wanted Thornhill to somehow burst in and save her from this evil man. But the thought went away quickly. It wasn’t possible.

Before Bernadette could spin her thoughts more, the door to the music room opened. The sound was deafening to the two of them, making Mr. Carter jump back and clear his throat.

Elizabeth stared at the two of them for a moment with an unreadable expression. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Alright then. I’ll be going. Talk soon Ber—Lady Roberts.”

With that he scampered off like he hadn’t just turned the room into ice. Elizabeth watched him go.

“Is he…?”

Bernadette held her hand up. “Don’t say anything.”

She packed up her harp and left the room quickly, pushing past her stepsister with conviction. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. The brunette looked around the room, seeing a card on the music stand. She picked it up and read,

_ Mr. Stanford Carter _

Alright so that’s his name. The only other identifying feature of this Mr. Carter was an address. Elizabeth recognized the number as one that belonged to a tavern. Most taverns in this town had beds rented out to carpetbaggers. And, apparently creepy old men. She’d seen the whole thing play out, and would be calling Bernadette a whore for letting him touch her like that but...

“No, she clearly doesn’t want it. Even  _ I _ know right from wrong,” she said to no one in particular. “But this guy…how long has he been doing this?”

Elizabeth stared at the address, a plan hatching in her head. A wicked smile spread across her face and she raced back into the kitchen with the paper in her pocket. Telling Bernadette what she was about to do wasn’t an option, but she knew someone who  _ should _ know.

Meanwhile, Bernadette went back up to her room after grabbing something to eat. She sat at her desk, ripping up chunks of the biscuit she’d taken and popping them into her mouth like candy. Hopefully, Elizabeth didn’t see any of that—you know, the whole Mr. Carter thing—as it was just another bullet in her stepsister’s gun to fire at Bernadette.

She definitely did, her mind supplied unhelpfully. Bernadette closed her eyes. Trying to find some modicum of relaxation through the taste of the bread and the soft breeze that whispered against her cheeks. Slowly, she reopened her eyes, feeling more centered than before. Elizabeth was just going to be a thorn in her side, wasn’t she?

Speaking of.

“Hey, can I borrow your seal?”

Bernadette raised an eyebrow. “Who are you sending a letter to?”

“None of your business,” she teased and snatched the seal from Bernadette’s hand. “Anyways, thanks.”

“As your older sister you should answer me.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “I’m  _ not _ going to treat you with any respect, because I don’t care for people who push me around.”

“That was your doing—!”

Before Bernadette could truly get another word in, she noticed the address that was written on the envelope. Elizabeth seemed to notice this and quickly shoved it underneath her armpit.

“Why are you sending that to him—hey! Come back here!”

The two raced around the house, ignoring the angered calls of their mother to stop fooling around. Dinner was long forgotten as the girls left the house and ran towards the local post office.

“Elizabeth stop! Ugh…” Bernadette crouched on the ground and tried to catch her breath. The brunette was getting farther and farther away. “How is she so fast?”

The letter was clearly addressed to her fiance. What kind of business did her stepsister have with Thornhill? If she was planning on telling Thornhill about her personality, she was mistaken to think that he didn’t already know. They were childhood friends after all.

“You have no idea, Elizabeth,” she called out to her stepsister. “you have no idea.”

Elizabeth, to her surprise, turned around. “Oh? I have no idea?”

“No, you don’t.”

“I don’t know about what? Huh?”

She was approaching her now, fanning herself with the letter. “I know you well enough now.”

“Not likely. If you knew me so well, you’d know about my feelings about the piano. And you would’ve respected them.”

Elizabeth sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then…”

“I’m not going to tell you what I mean.”

“Alright, then I’ll be going. See you!”

Elizabeth ran off, kicking dust up in the process. Bernadette coughed. She should’ve known that her stepsister would just ignore her. That was how she’d reacted before.

“I’ll just go home, I guess?”

Bernadette couldn’t believe this was happening. It was pointless to stop at this point, no amount of begging or pleading would make Elizabeth change her mind about sending the letter. Thornhill knew already. No need to sweat over such a thing. Bernadette brushed the dirt off of her dress and went on her way back home.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had reached the post office. She slipped her letter to the clerk and paid with the little money she had after the move to send it. The letter had some scandalous stuff in it, so Elizabeth was surprised that Bernadette didn’t get the hint and gave up. But, what had she meant by how Elizabeth didn’t ‘know anything’? Was what she had seen something else?

“That…” she wanted to say whore, but she knew better than to do such a thing in public with no evidence to back it up. “Never mind. I need to wait until he responds.”

If Thornhill knew about the arduous relationship, then Elizabeth could call her stepsister a whore. Maybe even have her become the laughing stock of this town. But if he didn’t know about that music instructor creep…Elizabeth wasn’t sure what she would do.


	5. Chapter 5

“I received your letter about wanting to meet me about something serious,” he started. Looking around the tavern, he added, “but why are we in a tavern?”

Elizabeth took a sip of her tea. “Because I don’t know this town that well. I would’ve met you at your home, but the implications may make this situation worse for you.”

“Is this about Bernadette? Are you the infamous stepsister?”

Thornhill’s smirk was charming, she would admit that. But he was pretty average compared to all the boys back in her hometown. Elizabeth wasn’t fazed.

“Yes, and yes. But I’m not here to talk about me. This is about Bernadette.”

“Alright.”

Elizabeth stared him down so that he could truly understand the severity of this situation. “I saw Bernadette and her music teacher together.”

“Alright. And?”

“Quiet.” she held a hand up. “I mean I  _ saw _ them doing something.”

She hoped that the inflection would say what she couldn’t say in such a public place. Thornhill raised an eyebrow and drummed his fingers against the table. He seemed to be in thought.

After a beat, he spoke.

“Something inappropriate?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Unfortunately, I wanted to let you know. Just in case you didn’t have a clue that she was cheating on you.”

Thornhill shook his head, which elicited a surprised reaction from the brunette. “I choose to believe you, but she’s not cheating on me. Bernadette is a lot of things, but a dishonest person is not one of them.”

“Hm.” Elizabeth feared that this would happen but she didn’t think it would  _ actually _ happen. Thornhill didn’t seem like the oblivious type, so…

“What did you see them doing exactly?”

The brunette looked around to see if anyone was listening and leaned in to whisper in his ear anyways. “The guy was caressing her waist and feeling up her arms. Bernadette didn’t say much, so I kinda assumed that she wanted him to do something like that.”

Thornhill sat back, expression unreadable. She sat in wait.

“Mr. Carter,” he started. “The reputable music instructor. Made advances on one of his pupils.”

“Yes.”

“Wow…this could be ground-breaking. I can imagine the headlines now.” Then his face turned darker. “This could ruin everything for Bernadette. Her debut, and her engagement to me.”

“So,” Elizabeth spoke. “What should we do?”

“We can’t panic. So don’t confront her, not yet anyways. We need solid evidence. Like something on paper.”

“And how do we get this Mr. Carter guy to say shady stuff…?”

Thornhill sighed and held his head in his hands. “I…haven’t thought that far. Regardless, we need to do it before the debutante party in a couple of weeks.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“By the way, I was under the impression that you didn’t like Bernadette. So, why are you helping her like this?”

“It’s not that I don’t like her, she’s just so…” the brunette struggled for a moment. “…she’s everything I was taught  _ not _ to be. And somehow, some way, she gets away with it?”

To her surprise, Thornhill nodded.

“I understand. But the thing about Bernadette is that she’s just that way. Always has been. I’ve known her since we were kids. Sometimes though, I wonder if our relationship would be different if she was a ‘typical’ lady.” he paused. “but that’s why I like her. Because she is different and isn’t like the other girls I could’ve been betrothed to.”

Elizabeth was surprised to hear that Bernadette could seem so insightful. She seemed like she operated on no filter and didn’t even know what it meant to be a lady. But, according to Thornhill, she did and actively went against it—despite the society they live in. Maybe she’d been too harsh on her?

No, she was justified. Bernadette had actually made a physical pass at her just because of some piano that her dad used to play.

Elizabeth got up from the table and thanked Thornhill for his time. They planned to meet later in the week to get some plans going. Both vowed to keep this a secret from Bernadette for the time being. Though Elizabeth hated to admit it, this type of scandal would ruin Bernadette’s life, and she understood the importance of debuting properly. The problem was Bernadette could be in danger.

She didn’t know this Mr. Carter guy, at least not before Thornhill gave some information. It wasn’t enough to explain why he was touching Bernadette like that though.

Once she got home, Elizabeth found it rather suspicious that Bernadette wasn’t there to jump her for meeting with her fiance. Nothing. It was evening now, so supper had been finished and their step mother went outside for her nightly sewing session. Elizabeth would normally join her, but everything she’d seen and done was weighing too heavy for her to even try and relax. She went to her room instead.

Bernadette was writing by candlelight in her own room. She wasn’t one to keep a journal, but with everything going on, she felt it was necessary so she wouldn’t go mad with hysteria. The ink jar on her desk was nearly empty—she must’ve been writing a lot lately. Though, she wouldn’t be shocked. After the fisherman incident, Bernadette had so much to say. And now something was happening between her fiance and step sister who hated her guts.

“Plus the Mr. Carter thing…” she paused then threw her head down into her hands. “God, why is this happening to me? I just want to play the harp, damnit.”

Bernadette crumpled up the paper and chucked it across the room. She didn’t care where it landed, because it felt satisfying to do so. She just needed to ignore this. Against her better judgement of confronting her fiance, Bernadette decided that she would act like she never saw the letter. It was better in the long run anyways. Thornhill wouldn’t cheat on her—at least, she thinks he wouldn’t. Why be so devoted to someone the way he is just to run off with her stepsister?

Her thoughts made her sleepy and Bernadette ended up falling asleep right there at her desk.

Downstairs, Elizabeth was getting ready to settle into bed when her stepmother came in.

“Elizabeth, I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Okay.”

Her stepmother held her hands in her own. “I want you to be an integral part of Bernadette’s debut party. Will you?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth nodded. “But, what would I be doing?”

“I need you to send out the invitations. They just need to go to the post office before the end of the week.”

The brunette smiled. “Sure.”

“Yes, thank you! I’ll put the invitation in the drawer of your vanity.”

Her stepmother bid her a goodnight after doing so, and Elizabeth decided that today had been entirely too stressful to not go to sleep right now. She already had a feeling that Mr. Carter had an invitation, due to his closeness to Bernadette. Elizabeth smiled to herself; this would make her and Thornhill’s plans conducted sooner than they thought.


	6. Chapter 6

Mr. Carter was coming this afternoon. In an attempt to distract herself, Bernadette was already in the music room playing her harp. Everything else in the world fell away when she played. It was like finding that one good book that you’ve been looking for your entire life; it was like finding the person who you’d always thought you’d never find and Bernadette felt like music was far beyond any of these satisfying feelings. Music was more gratuitous than that. Her father taught her that when Bernadette was able to understand something so profound and deep. God, she missed him so much. Bernadette adored her mother—despite her traditional thinking, of course—but she couldn’t fill the void that her late father left almost five years ago.

“Well,” Bernadette took out her pocket watch and saw that it was nearly time for her lesson. “I should probably take a break before Mr. Carter gets here.”

She got up from her chair, being careful to set her harp safely aside. Bernadette left the music room and went to the kitchen for a small snack. At the dining table, Elizabeth was eating strawberries and periodically dipped them into a sugar bowl.

“Hey.” Elizabeth greeted half-heartedly.

Bernadette nodded in her general direction. She didn’t know what to say to her stepsister right now. A greeting would be a good start. “Hi.”

“Do you have lessons today?”

“Yeah,” Bernadette responded. “In about thirty minutes…”

“I’m gonna sit in on it.”

If Elizabeth’s hobby was to make Bernadette annoyed, she should stop. Because, it was too much sometimes.

“That’s not going to happen. Besides,” she pointed at Elizabeth flippantly. “You play the piano and he is a strings instructor.”

A little white lie. Mr. Carter played all sorts of instruments, but strings were what he preferred and what he was most known for. Elizabeth wouldn’t know something like that.

“Oh? I asked my mother and she said he plays nearly every instrument.”

Damn. Her mother and her big mouth.

Bernadette tapped her foot impatiently. “I don’t want you in there.”

“Too bad.”

“No.”

“What are you gonna do?” Elizabeth puffed her chest up, now awfully close to her stepsister. “Push me around, because you know what happens when you do.”

Bernadette glowered but said nothing. She wasn’t going to pull a stunt like that again, not while her mother is stressing over the debutante ball plans. It wouldn’t be a problem anyways, because she wouldn’t even notice Elizabeth as long as they were playing music. But, Mr. Carter was…Mr. Carter. Bernadette couldn’t predict his behavior anymore—not since the other day. He’d been so bold that she was almost relieved Elizabeth would be in the room. Bernadette hoped he had even a little bit of decency not to grope her in front of her stepsister.

“So thirty minutes? I’ll be there.”

Elizabeth said before getting up from the dining table and washing her hands. She brushed past her step sister to her bedroom.

Bernadette pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay.”

Music lessons began promptly. But Bernadette found she couldn’t relax, not with the thought that Elizabeth could walk in at any moment. She tried not to let it affect her playing. As if jinxing herself, an ugly sound came from her harp. Mr. Carter winced next to her.

“Let’s try that measure again, yes?”

His hot breath was fanning over the nape of her neck. Bernadette nodded and began at the start once more. She was finally getting into the typical rhythm she had when she played, but as if on cue, Elizabeth arrived like a hurricane into the music room.

Bernadette stopped playing. Mr. Carter looked startled at the unexpected visitor.

“I’m here.” Elizabeth said as if she didn’t just barge in unannounced.

“Ah, are you…?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Right, Elizabeth. We’re actually in the middle of a lesson right now—”

Bernadette hissed under her breath. “Don’t bother.”

He looked at her for an explanation, but was interrupted again by the brunette slowly approaching them. Mr. Carter smiled nervously. The two of them watched Elizabeth sit on the piano bench and stretched her fingers before beginning to play.

Bernadette’s eyes welled up with tears; after all this time of protecting her late father’s precious piano—it meant nothing. There was nothing she could do to Elizabeth that would give her any satisfaction. Out of the corner of her eye, Bernadette noticed her lesson teacher watching Elizabeth with an unreadable expression. Scratch that—it was super readable—but Bernadette wanted to pretend she was actually dumb enough to ignore the twinkle in his eyes and that smile grow wider. He looked at her when they first started like that too. Bernadette felt jealousy bubble up. No, no she wasn’t jealous of Elizabeth getting Mr. Carter’s attention. That was more concerning than anything.

She was more jealous of the fact that Elizabeth was clearly better at music, seeing as how she memorized what must be a six page minute and could play it well without sheet music. Bernadette hated to admit it, but she relied a lot on sheet music.

Once Elizabeth finished playing, Mr. Carter stood up from his chair next to Bernadette’s and clapped. He looked in awe at the natural talent that was Elizabeth Bishop. The brunette stood up from the bench and approached them again, this time putting a hand on Bernadette’s shoulder. She looked between the two of them, clearly having a conversation with only their eyes and body language. Suddenly, Bernadette felt like she was intruding on something that she shouldn’t be—like a perverted voyeur.

She stood up, clattering the music stand in front of her, the music sheets drifting onto the floor.

“Sorry, I have to use the…bathroom! Right, the bathroom!”

Bernadette raced out of the room, shutting the door behind her in a hurry. The two looked back at each other. Mr. Carter spoke first.

“Elizabeth, you really have potential. I have seen many musicians in my time as one myself, but,” he gave her a look that was unsettling for Elizabeth to say the least. “Never have I encountered someone as talented as you.”

“Thanks, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh? What else is there to say?”

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. The not-so-sneaky glance that Mr. Carter gave to her bosom only fortified this next thought. She knew wearing the corset was a good idea, but he better be paying attention to what she had to say.

“Leave Bernadette alone. You can teach her music or whatever, but,” Elizabeth motioned towards the door. “anything beyond that and I’ll tell her fiance.”

Mr. Carter laughed. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. But I have no idea what you’re talking about. I only teach Bernadette music because she enjoys it. I’ve only been doing what she wants.”

The implications of his words are as clear as day. Elizabeth rolled her eyes though, not believing a word this old guy says.

“Yeah, okay. She’s not a temptress—”

“You’re stepsisters aren’t you? Brand new ones?” Mr. Carter’s demeanor changed drastically, his tone dripping with darkness and poison. “So, what do you even know about Bernadette really?”

“Trust me, it’s been a long week. I know more than you think I ever could.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Enlighten me, then… _ Elizabeth _ .”

Before she could verbally tear this creepy guy to shreds—which by the way, was  _ not _ part of her and Thornhill’s plan—Bernadette came back in with a cup of water in tow. She noticed the two of them standing awfully close. The atmosphere in the room had dissipated so quickly, it gave Elizabeth whiplash. Bernadette smiled nervously, setting her cup down and picking up the sheet music that had fallen long ago.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison. Elizabeth kept talking to avoid hearing any more of the music teacher’s voice. “I was just about to leave.”

As Elizabeth gathered herself, she locked eyes with Bernadette. The brunette was staring with such conviction, almost as in warning? No, that can’t be it. Bernadette knew that the last thing Elizabeth would do is look out for her. She looked to Mr. Carter, who was wringing his hands—a nervous habit that Bernadette had come to notice recently.

“Mr. Carter?” Bernadette questioned after the door shut behind her stepsister.

He cleared his throat and nearly jumped out of his seat. Gathering the sheet music, Mr. Carter spoke to her in a wavering tone—completely different from the energy she’d felt when she first came in just moments ago.

“I’ll be going now, Bernadette. Same time next week, but,” he looked at her with similar conviction she’d seen from Elizabeth. “Make sure we aren’t interrupted.”

With that, he scurried off. Bernadette didn’t move from her spot in the music room until she heard a horses’ whinny, signaling that the music instructor had left.


	7. Chapter 7

The long-held views about the particular strengths, weaknesses, and appropriate responsibilities of each respective sex effected everyday life, patterns of crime, and response to crime are normal among the people of today’s society. Bernadette resented this very openly, much to literally everyone else’s dismay of just wanting a normal, modest life in Rimecrehed.

Debuting in society is natural nowadays. After the invention of marriage, men quickly found that choosing their own spouse was difficult when they didn’t know anything about the women they were interested in. Hell, they didn’t even know about the women around them. Fortunately—rather unfortunately for women like Bernadette—someone came up with the idea of having debutante balls. They were held when a young lady was ready to become engaged.

The idea is that women are shown and indirectly auctioned off like cattle to hungry men that needed to fit the quota of one child per household. Everything about the balls were extravagant; families would pay beyond what they have, in hopes that a rich man’s dowry would keep them comfortable for a lifetime. Bernadette’s case was slightly different, as she’d been engaged pretty much since childhood. Her mother insisted on having a debutante ball regardless because she herself had had one. Thornhill was about to come into a large sum of inheritance too, so she didn’t need to worry about her financial future. Textiles will always be needed, unlike fisheries or bookstores.

Bernadette had requested to play the harp at her debutante ball. There was usually a portion where the debuting lady would show off her talents to incite any interest among attending bachelor’s. However, Bernadette was not playing for Thornhill or any of the men that will be there. She frankly doesn’t care about them.

What she was  _ really _ worried about was Mr. Carter. It was only a matter of time before he made an irreversible move on her. Not to mention that he came over daily, so the opportunity to do so is an advantage for him. Bernadette couldn’t practice alone though, not anymore. She was consumed by thoughts of her late father. Sometime between Elizabeth’s interruption and today, her anger had dissipated. There wasn’t a clear reason why, but Bernadette tried not to focus on it.

Her mother had been nagging her since childhood about being prepared for the debut into society. Bernadette never understood the importance of it beyond what she’d hear from other little girls in primary school. Everything had seemed so simple back then. If she didn’t want to listen to her mother, Bernadette could beg her father to play a tune on the piano and escape from the stresses of what would become her adulthood.

She’d never been to a debutante ball, mind you. Despite them being so common, people that were considered middle class weren’t invited. Every parent wanted their child to marry into some kind of nobility or importance. Bernadette knew that many girls from her primary school had debuted by now, but she wasn’t invited—probably because she rubbed them all the right way.

Particularly, and she’d never say this out loud, but the dresses that girls wore at the balls were Bernadette’s favorite thing right now. Her mother had shown her photos at the tailor’s shop and they were beautiful. The dresses were never white, usually a light pink to represent femininity—Bernadette would groan at this sequestered view of women, but she loved pink in secret—and had flowery accents at the bottom hem of the dress. No veils of course, but she often held flowers to suggest fragility and blooming from an adolescent to adult.

Thornhill and Bernadette met before she started primary school. They lived in the deeper countryside of Rimecrehed, where cows and horses grazed the dewy green grass in the early hours of the morning. She was an only child, so she often explored alone in these farms. The farmers were nice, serving her lunch and letting her help with the chores around the barn.

One day though, her father took her into town. He was going to find some clothes for their mother, who after the pregnancy was going through more body changes. Bernadette was very much a daddy’s girl despite her independent attitude. At this point in her life, she was much more girly but still adventurous.

They entered the tailor’s shop, a bell chiming to signal their entrance to the clerk. The two of them ventured deeper into the shop, being sure to avoid bumping into others. For some reason, it was very busy that day. Bernadette had never seen the shop so full—was there a sale going on? That didn’t usually happen.

Bernadette got her answer in the form of a young boy and a man who was maybe five years her father’s senior. The boy had curly blonde hair that was neatly coiffed to the side; his jacket was a deep black and his cheeks at the slightest of dimples. The two of them locked eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, Bernadette shyly hid behind her father’s legs.

The two older men laughed at her display. Bernadette’s face felt hot and grew even more red when the young boy approached her.

“Nice to meet you. My name is Christopher,” he bowed slightly in respect. That had never happened due to her status. Bernadette curtsied back quickly so as not to be disrespectful. “You’re pretty.”

Bernadette nearly jumped out of her skin in embarrassment. The girl hid behind her father again—but peeked around them to watch Christopher’s reaction.

The older blonde man spoke. “My apologies, young miss. My son is rather blunt.”

“It’s no problem,” her father responded. “she’s just nervous around boys.”

“That’s typical! What’s her name?”

“Ah, you should introduce yourself, honey.”

Bernadette shook her head. Christopher was staring at her with those big blue eyes like the ocean at the port. She felt frustrated that her voice wouldn’t come out. Why was she feeling so nervous? He was just some boy they’d met randomly!

“My name is Bernadette Roberts. And I am pretty.”

Christopher smiled; his eyes crinkled. “Yes. I agree.”

“Our given name is Thornhill—”

Her father gasped, startling everyone within a nearby radius. “ _ Thornhill _ ? As in Thornhill Textiles and Goods?!”

Sir Thornhill put a finger to his lips to quiet her father down. People were beginning to stare, and he must’ve wanted some kind of privacy while shopping. While the two men talked and got to know one another, Bernadette approached Christopher.

“Don’t call me pretty again.”

“Ok. Then I will call you beautiful!”

Bernadette’s face flushed and she stomped her foot. “No! Don’t call me any of that mushy stuff! It’s yucky!”

“Alright. Maybe later.”

Thornhill giggled and grabbed her hand. She pulled it away as if it was put on a hot stove burner.

“Stop touching me!”

“I only touched you once—”

“I’ll scream.”

Thornhill shrugged. “I believe you, but my daddy says that wouldn’t be very ladylike.

Bernadette rolled her eyes at this. Of course, he would say that. He's a boy living in a boy’s world. “I don’t care what your dad says.”

“He’s really important! You should listen to men because they are very smart and know everything. You listen to your daddy, don’t you?”

“O-of course!” Bernadette sputtered, feeling caught in a lie. “But my daddy’s different!”

The younger Thornhill ran away from her, clearly frustrated with the fact that a lady was talking to him in such a demeaning way. Thornhill’s father came quickly with his son in tow, her father trailing behind and offering many apologies to no avail.

“I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again—”

Mr. Thornhill spun on his heel and hissed. “No, it won’t happen again. Teach your daughter how to act like a proper lady, and then try talking to my son. I don’t stand for this kind of disrespect. Goodbye.”

They left in a hurry, and so did Bernadette and her father. Her father didn’t say anything on the walk back home to her, not even at dinner until the very end. As she was helping her mother wash the dishes, her father whispered something in her mother’s ear. She nodded and then shooed him away so they could continue.

Bernadette felt bad. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was definitely her fault. “Mommy…is daddy mad at me?”

“I’m not sure, darling,” her mother rinsed one of the cups. “How about you finish that sewing project we started, and I’ll finish up the dishes.”

“Are you sure, mommy?”

Her mother gave a sweet kiss on her forehead. “Of course. Run along now.”

Bernadette began sewing the dress that her mother began for her earlier that week. She waited until she heard the sound of water being drained in the well out in the backyard before she raced into the kitchen to ask her mother to sew with her. But when she arrived, her mother was no longer in the kitchen—the candle left unlit, a stream of smoke drifting from the tip of the candle. She must’ve just left then.

The young girl was about to go back to her sewing, maybe even steal a book from her father’s study to read when she went to bed, but small voices called for her attention. Bernadette approached the door of her father’s study, which was adjacent to the kitchen.

She peeked through the door, seeing her parents talking to one another in a way that made her feel uneasy.

“I just, I’m not sure what to do about her,” her father scrubbed his face. “This isn’t all her fault, but…that man has power in the economy—I could lose my job at the fishery.”

Her mother held his hand. “Dear, that’s not going to happen. At least, it shouldn’t. And I’m sorry, I must have failed her as a mother.”

“No. As her father, I should hold her to a higher standard—after all she’ll need to debut soon, and no man will want a woman like Bernadette—”

Bernadette ran away from the study, trying not to cry or make a sound as she shut the door to her room. She flopped into bed and threw her face into her pillow. She was just so terrible at being a normal girl. Bernadette knew that, so why did this keep happening?

From now on, Bernadette vowed, she would become a better lady and make her father happy. She felt so awful when her father was disappointed in her like this. Not that he ever was really, so now felt even more damning. Bernadette stood up numbly and began to get ready for bed. Ignoring the nagging feeling in her brain, she curled up under the covers and cursed the Thornhills under her breath.

Soft rain pelted against her window that next morning. Bernadette slept soundly last night, despite the many thoughts racing through her head. There was no hint of sunshine—as only gray clouds jumbled together to create large masses of gloom hanging above the town of Rimcrehead. It was a weekday, so this weather would prove to be tough not only on Bernadette, but pretty much everyone in the town.

Her mother, as if sensing she was awake, came into the room. She sat next to her on the bed. Bernadette tried not to make it obvious that she was awake. Luckily, her mother didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh honey,” she tucked a piece of her daughter’s hair behind her ear. “You are a great girl, but I worry about you sometimes…”

Bernadette knew her mother wanted to say more; at least, she should’ve. But then again, the young girl wasn’t supposed to know about that conversation her parents had in father’s study. Nevertheless, she made a promise to herself last night. Bernadette would do her best to act more mature and ladylike.

After several years, Bernadette ended up like this. Her parents, and she, found out that no matter how many ruler lashes Bernadette got on her hand, she wasn’t going to change. At first this stressed the family out even further. They’d been seriously considering sending Bernadette to a nunnery once she left secondary school—but then her father passed, and plans flushed down the drain.

He died of natural causes; although he didn’t look his age, her father was still brittle and not as lithe as he used to be. The piano’s chords would always ring throughout their home at three o’ clock sharp. But, once his passing, the house stayed eerily silent in the afternoons while Bernadette read her books.

Thornhill had been a big part of this time. And, maybe that’s how Bernadette found herself being able to tolerate him. He was there for the lowest parts of her: the anger, resentment, cursing at God for taking her father away. Thornhill was there for all of it, and he never left her. Bernadette inwardly swooned at his princely attention to her, but the rebel that would always reside within her demanded that she keeps him away. She tried to compromise the two, saying to Thornhill one day,

“You know, I’m pretty much over it,” she lied through a forced smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “So, you don’t have to feel responsible for staying with me. You can go because I feel better.”

Bernadette hoped this would be the final straw that would get him to leave her, so she could live a life of playing music and reading books to her hearts’ content.

Unfortunately, Thornhill is much smarter than his looks let on. He laughs and holds Bernadette’s hand in his own.

“I’ll leave you once you’re  _ actually _ over it.”

And that’s where she is today. Bernadette had kept a lot of feelings—both good and bad ones—about her father’s passing to herself. She found it much easier to ignore those things outwardly and pretend she was okay for the most part. Which isn’t false but isn’t true either. Thornhill, unfortunately, could read her like a book nowadays after all these years of spending time together. He was, in a sense, helping her by staying. But what if he was staying for the wrong reasons. Hasn’t she made it clear that she’s not some crying damsel in distress? Maybe she hasn’t if the guy still hangs around her.

Speaking of Thornhill, what business did he have with Elizabeth? Those two are so different, Bernadette couldn’t imagine the two of them getting along so quickly and naturally. But she saw what she saw—the letter, she means, that Elizabeth had addressed to her fiancée.


	8. Chapter 8

_ Dear Diary, _

_ I feel so conflicted. I mean, usually, I don’t even write to you unless things are going really bad. Nothing is really bad, I guess, but it feels like it’s getting there. Lots of thoughts are swimming through my head and I want them to go away—but reading and sewing don’t work. I want to just debut so I won’t have to see Elizabeth or Mr. Carter anymore. _

_ Thornhill has been distant. Sort of. I think he has. Usually, he sends me letters every day and I’d make fun of him for it because…listen, we see each other like all the time. But I kind of miss it. Ugh, that sounds so mushy but that’s how I feel. _

Bernadette put down her quill and ran a hand through her hair. She felt so incredibly weird right now. Like she was stuck in some sort of limbo that she couldn’t escape until other people were more honest with her. In times like these, Bernadette wished the people around her were more like her—brash, sometimes rude, and a little obnoxious. She knew she was deep in this limbo when she began to write in her diary.

After she had gone inside the other night, Bernadette had tried to crack the window open so that she could hear what the two had been talking about. But the window was too loud and creaky so she decided against it. Bernadette just wanted to know what was going on. It felt like she was being kept in the dark and she hated that feeling.

She stood up from her desk and went to Elizabeth’s room, knocking on the door three times before her stepsister hollered for her to come in.

“What’s up?”

Bernadette’s eyes didn’t meet Elizabeth’s face, something that made her stepsister feel more worried about.

“Can you just tell me what you and Thornhill were talking about?”

Elizabeth sighed, setting aside the crocheting she had been doing, and sat up straight in her chair. She gestured for Bernadette to sit on the edge of her bed opposite Elizabeth, and she did.

“Listen, I want to tell you. But I also don’t want you to freak out, and even though you think I don’t know you, I know you well enough that your reaction won’t be something I can deal with right now,” Elizabeth paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I will tell you on the day of your debutante ball. If I tell you now, you won’t be able to focus on what you need to get done before that—”

“I can’t focus anyways! Do you know what it’s like to have someone important to you hide something and make you so worried that you can’t sleep?!”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

Elizabeth’s tone was somber. The atmosphere of the room suddenly changed because of it.

“I didn’t know my father was getting remarried until a few days before we came. He had been acting weird after my mother up and left us, but I thought he was just going through an emotional phase like I was.”

Immediately, Bernadette was filled with regret for acting so high-strung and making her stepsister rehash memories that were probably not enjoyable for her. Elizabeth continued.

“But here I am, and he hid this remarriage thing from me. After all the worrying and anxiety and sleepless nights, I just felt so angry. So,” she sniffled. “yes I know the feeling. And I understand what you’re going through, but I promise that this needs to wait. I, nor Thornhill can tell you yet. Okay?”

Bernadette stood up and for the first time since her stepsister moved in, felt an overwhelming feeling to hold Elizabeth close and make her feel less upset. Before she could finish any thought regarding the aforementioned, Bernadette pulled the brunette into a tight hug. Elizabeth stiffened but returned it willingly. The two stayed like that for what felt like hours. Both of them were filled with overwhelming happiness that they were finally connecting—albeit through negative feelings—but connecting nevertheless.

“I’m sorry.”

It was whispered into the shell of Bernadette’s ear, but she heard it all the same.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered back and held her stepsister even closer, if possible.

“What’s wrong?” Bernadette asked softly.

Elizabeth sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fell previously. She pulled back to look at her sleeve which was now covered in mascara residue. “Jesus, what isn’t wrong?” she stood up and adjusted herself so that she looked a modicum of respectful. “I’m sorry. That’s all I have to say.”

“But…why were you crying?”

“Because I can, okay. Sometimes you just need to cry.”

Bernadette shifted her weight from side to side in contemplation. “Is this about me? I know that I can be a hassle sometimes—”

“It’s not like that,” the brunette interrupted. “this is so dumb, why do I even care about you like this? You’re not related to me.”

“Ouch.”

Elizabeth whipped her head around, glaring at Bernadette sharply.

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t. Sometimes I have no idea what’s going on in your head,” Bernadette threw her arms up into the air in frustration. She felt herself growing hot with anger. “one minute you’re crying and telling me you’re sorry, and the next you’re sneaking around and hiding something from me that is obviously important!”

“Once again, it’s not like that. I’m just trying to protect you, okay? And no, I don’t know why. For some stupid reason, I feel obligated to do what I think is right for you.”

Bernadette pinched the bridge of her nose in between two of her fingers. She was beginning to feel light-headed and tried to calm herself down. But the anger inside that had been boiling since Elizabeth got here was about to bubble up into an explosion of fury if she didn’t relax.

“How do you know what’s good for me? Huh?” she got up in Elizabeth’s face; they were practically nose-to-nose right now. Elizabeth said nothing, to which Bernadette laughed. “of course, you don’t! You said so yourself—you don’t know me!”

“Bernadette calm down…”

“Don’t tell me to be calm! After all of the shit you’ve been throwing at me since you moved into the goddamn house, I think I have a right to be pissed off with you!”

Bernadette could see the room spinning but she didn’t care. All she wanted was for her feelings to reach Elizabeth and her anger was so white-hot that she was essentially screaming at her stepsister in their quiet house late in the evening. No doubt their mother would be upstairs to inevitably blame this debacle on Bernadette, and Elizabeth would get away scot-free. She’d be damned if she let that happen. Again.

“I don’t—why are you even here?! You don’t love me—”

To Elizabeth’s surprise, her stepsister suddenly crumpled to the ground like discarded parchment paper. She gasped and tried to soften the fall by catching Bernadette.

“Bernadette? Hey, Bernadette…” Elizabeth shook her lightly, but when no response came her anxiety levels flew through the roof. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes; a lump in her throat almost muting her cries for help.

“Help! Someone help!”

Bernadette slowly opened her eyes, allowing the bright light to reveal itself in slivers. She accustomed to the sight. Looking around, Bernadette recognized the color paint on the wall and the scent of fresh clean linens. The window was open; a cool breeze sent waves of calm into the atmosphere. Bernadette felt fatigued—like she hadn’t slept in years. Her eyes felt heavy and she was almost tempted to go back to sleep, but her mother’s soft voice sent that desire away.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be fancy with the formatting this time. My HTML skills are not perfect, but hopefully, this chapter is still readable.

“Honey? Are you awake?”

Her mother gently scratched her scalp. Bernadette leaned into the touch like a cat getting its head pat.

“I’m awake.”

“Good. How are you feeling?”

Bernadette went to sit up, but her mother gingerly forced her to stay in place, laying back down against lavender-scented bed sheets. “Huh?”

“Don’t get up too quickly, dear. I don’t want you fainting again.”

“I fainted?” her voice sounded weak and cracked. Bernadette surveyed her body internally to gauge what had happened before she woke up here. Her legs felt the same, and so did her arms, but her head was pounding incessantly. Bernadette groaned when a particularly sharp pain shot down her spine from the back of her head.

Her mother left her side momentarily to come back with a bowl. It was steaming and emanated a scent that smelled so delicious to Bernadette that drool escaped from her mouth uncontrollably. “Yes. You fainted a few hours ago in the music room. Elizabeth called for help so desperately that I was quite spooked.”

Elizabeth helped her. And why had she fainted in the first place?

Bernadette, after another wave of pain, made itself known in her head, decided against questioning it for right now. Clearly, she needed to relax. But she couldn’t help but wonder why she had even ended up like this? It’s not like Bernadette had a history of fainting. Sure, she’d been light-headed before. But wasn’t everyone?

Her mother, as if reading Bernadette’s mind, continued.

“You’ve never fainted before, so we called a physician to make sure you were okay. He said it was a stress-induced episode. So, you’re staying in bed until we get down to the bottom of whatever is making you feel stressed.”

“But there’s still a lot to do for the ball—”

“I’m aware, but your health comes first. Unfortunately, I can’t cancel the reservations of the venue, so, we need to work through this as best as we can. Because we can’t put the ball off at all.”

Bernadette inwardly groaned. “Mom, I get you want to help, but I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Bernadette. I’m your mother and I know you very well, whether you like it or not,” her mother set the bowl aside on Bernadette’s nightstand. “but you’ve already been behind from the start. I can’t keep the Thornhill family waiting any longer.”

“…”

Here we go. The guilt-tripping and manipulation. Bernadette was sick of dealing with such hot-and-cold behavior from her mother. Normally, Lady Roberts is a sweet lady that has traditional values—like many other in her generation. The problem really was Bernadette, per usual. Ever since her parents spoke that one time secretly in her father’s study and after his passing, Lady Roberts became adamant about her daughter continuing their lineage. They aren’t nobility, of course. The Thornhills were lucky to help them change that.

But she always used this fact as a launching pad for these rants she went on. Bernadette, as far as she knew, was always the victim of these rants. Then again, she and Elizabeth weren’t exactly close enough to talk about their shared mother—especially behind her back. Elizabeth had betrayed her once before. Who knows when she’d do it again?

Speaking of Elizabeth, where the hell was she? Her stepsister just dropped her off in Bernadette’s bedroom and scampered away?

“Where’s Elizabeth, mom?”

Lady Roberts paused. She looked rather annoyed. “Your sister is in the backyard, tending to some of the flowers and vegetables.”

Bernadette sat up, ignoring the throbbing pain in her head and the screaming in her legs to relax once more into the bed. “I need to talk to her.”

“No. You need to stay in bed.”

“Mom, seriously. This is important. I’ll come back afterward.”

The older woman crossed her arms. “Bernadette, I am your mother and you  _ will _ listen to me.”

“I said I’ll be right back.”

“And I said you will listen to me.”

They were both raising their voices so loud that the door to Bernadette’s bedroom making itself known was not surprising, in retrospect. Elizabeth followed the noise; coming into the room from behind the door.

“What’s going on in here—” the brunette scanned the room. Once her eyes landed on Bernadette, she seemed to brighten ever-so-slightly. “Oh! You’re awake.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Bernadette responded sharply and shot a look at her mother. To which Lady Roberts returned with fervor. “can we talk? In  _ private _ ?”

“Absolutely not. If you have something to say to Elizabeth about whatever caused this fainting spell, I deserve to hear it—”

Elizabeth placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder reflexively. “It’s alright mother. We need to talk about something else. Right, Bernadette?”

The smile on her stepsister’s face confused Bernadette to no end. She wasn’t sure what Elizabeth was referring to, as she really did want to talk about what happened before she fainted in the music room. Bernadette slowly nodded; she tried to look convincing and luckily, their mother bought it.

“Alright. But I’ll be back to bring some vegetables for you to eat.”

Lady Roberts looked back at them once again before she exits the room quietly, clicking the door shut behind her. The two of them exhaled together; the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed. Elizabeth decided to break the silence.

“Bernadette—”

She held one hand up. “No. Don’t talk. I’m sick of this—this weird thing we have going on where you act all sweet to me when I don’t know and then piss me off the times that I do.”

“That’s not what it is. Don’t you remember that we hugged before you freaked out in the music room?”

Bernadette said nothing. The brunette took this as a nonverbal cue to continue.

“I’ve been nice to you behind your back, sure. And I’ve been on edge ever since I came to this town and this house. But,” Elizabeth’s voice turned soft and she sat down on the bed beside Bernadette. “I’m trying my best, okay? You…never mind. Just know that we’ve gotten past the ‘weird’ that you’re talking about. You’ll remember once you feel better from fainting. We can talk more then.”

“What were you going to say?”

Elizabeth laughed sarcastically. “Obviously I said never mind, so you already know that I’m not going to say it.”

There’s the real Elizabeth. The last ten minutes had been so mind-bending that Bernadette was convinced this was all a freaky dream or some nightmare. Elizabeth sat up and left her bedroom wordlessly, clicking the door behind her as well. Bernadette watched her go.

“What is even happening anymore?”

Bernadette wondered out loud to herself. So many things were going on and she couldn’t keep track of everything anymore. A wave of fatigue hit her, so Bernadette succumbed to the heaviness that weighed down on her eyes and melted into her freshly cleaned linens.

Elizabeth found herself going back to the music room. She was slightly relieved that Bernadette was still forced to be on bed rest so that she could continue reading the letters that her and Thornhill had been exchanging. Elizabeth was in the middle of reading one when she had heard her stepmother and stepsister nearly screaming at each other.

The brunette sat down on the piano bench; she swiped the letter opener on her way back from Bernadette’s room and started to open the rest of them. Elizabeth hummed to herself as she searched for the letter she had been reading.

“Here it is.” She pulled out one that had a freshly created red wax seal.

_ E., _

They started to use their first name initials as their pen names. For the safety of both of their reputations, as well as to keep a level of secrecy in case this plan went up in flames.

<blockquote>’ _ I’ve done some digging in the city’s archives. Rimecrehed is fortunate enough to have an entire few shelves dedicated to the citizens of itself—both past and present. I didn’t want to take anything back to my home in case it arouses suspicion from the employees of the establishment. _

_ Please go in my stead and copy what you can find. I suggest that you drop them off in person at my home, for the sake of secrecy. After you arrive, we can begin moving forward. _

_ C.’</blockquote> _

This letter was from a few days ago. Elizabeth noted that despite the lack of dates. She had gone to the local archives, per Thornhill’s instructions, but his file was missing. The brunette told him this in person. Both of them decided to try again the next day. Luckily, the files were present in the archive this time. Due to the events of today, Elizabeth hadn’t been able to bring them to him and she’d probably have to hold off until tomorrow.

Elizabeth opened another letter. This one was much shorter than the last.

_ <blockquote>‘E., _

_ A thought has been roaming around in my head for the past couple of hours. We need to question why those files were missing that day. Could Mr. Carter have gone to the archives and altered the documents…and if he did, does that just prove his guilt? _

_ C.’</blockquote> _

That’s true. Elizabeth needed to look as closely as she could to see if any obvious changes were made. She hoped that Mr. Carter wasn’t smarter in literally every other facet of life than he is at music. It’s a shame, really. Such a masterful musician that was renowned beyond his main town of work turned out to be a creepy old man that takes Bernadette’s reputation into the palm of his talented hands.

Before she could get any angrier, Elizabeth grabbed the file folder she got the other day. She should probably wait until Thornhill was present to open and read this. But Elizabeth doesn’t need him to just read some papers.

_ <blockquote>‘Citizenry File: #000425 _

_ Name: Mr. Stanford D. Carter’</blockquote> _

Elizabeth kept scanning for anything odd. So far, he was in the clear, but she just knew something should be either missing or wrong somewhere in these files.

_ <blockquote>‘Occupation: Musician/Instructor _

_ Criminal Record: _

_ Convicted _ .’</blockquote>

Interesting. Very interesting.

Elizabeth smiled wickedly. Even if they weren’t sure what he was convicted of, now they just needed to go back to the archives and ask for the processing history. The archivists there were very kind—according to Thornhill, at least—and would give them what they needed. Obviously, there is something extremely fishy about the breakthrough line on the criminal record. But they had a start, and that’s all that mattered.

The brunette picked up her quill and a spare piece of parchment paper. Elizabeth began to write a letter detailing her finds and she knew her excitement could be read through the very opening line,

_ <blockquote>‘We’ve got him. Meet me at the archives downtown tomorrow first thing in the morning.’</blockquote> _


End file.
